Dude is 17!!

I try to acknowledge the birth of my kids with an annual post because without them there wouldn’t be a blog.  I also would have had less grey hair.  And a lot more money.  No-one warned me about the amount of money I would need to spend on raising kids.  It’s the single biggest reason why people in their forties don’t own a sportscar.  Well that and the limited boot space.

But can you believe it, Dude turns 17 today!

He’s managed to retain all of his amazing qualities and grew of few more.  Now he is also handsome, funny, considerate and tall.  Just like me.  Except for being considerate because I’m a selfish bastard.

Gym will never be the same again.

I’ve been busy.  On all fronts.  And things changed.  Drastically.

This week marks the first time that I was able to persuade Princess to join us in our routine torture sessions before the sun shows his friendly, fat face.  (I’m still moderately intrigued as to why she suddenly agreed to join us but in order to protect my sanity, I’m not going to dwell on that too long.)

Selling the concept of training in the morning was far easier than the execution thereof.  It took a lot of persuasion to finally get her to wake up and get dressed in some kind of sports attire.  Think ‘trying to fit and elephant in a mini cooper’.  Not that I’m insinuating she’s fat because she definitely is not.  She’s not even overweight.  Besides wouldn’t I be an awful parent if I called my daughter an elephant?  Even though she laughs like Heffalump.  I’m getting side-tracked…

The world is burning

I’m sitting here in absolute disbelief.  Sickened by humanity.  Disappointed in the human race.  No wonder aliens wouldn’t bother reasoning with us.  We’re an intolerant, judgmental, hateful bunch of a-holes.  They’ll just use their green-ray guns and vaporize us to smithereens before starting over. “Zoom. Zap. Done.”

What is happening to the world we live in?  Between bombings, shootings, violence, protests, referendums and political insecurity it feels like we are on the brink of being dumped right back into the Middle Ages. I don’t know much, but I do know that I won’t be able to defend myself with a sword.  Please tell me I’m dreaming and I’ve watched one too many Game of Thrones episodes…

But my twitter feed tells me otherwise.

Our bathroom is the place where dreams go to die.

Did you know there are still a few magical and mystical locations left on earth? Undiscovered sanctuaries where pink, fluffy unicorns go and lay their eggs, raise their young.  Or where they crystallize the urine of angels to make pixie dust.  (Either that or it’s made from the cremated remains of Care Bears. The jury is still out on that one…)

Our ashes make Peter Pan fly

I know of such a wondrous place.  It’s in our house.  It’s my bathroom.

The good old days

Older people always reminisce about the good old days. About how great things were back in the day.  They can’t help but comment on how different things are today. ‘Different’ being used as a synonym for “it’s-really-gone-to-shit”, off course.

As kids we were bombarded by tales and urban legends of how awesome and simple things were when our parents grew up.  We used to roll our eyes when they would start to talk about all the stuff they did, around the time when dinosaurs roamed earth.

For everything we don’t know about the meaning of life, the one thing we do know is that life has a twisted sense of humour.  And the more things change, the more they stay the same.

It’s a sad day when we realize we’re not perfect.

When an infant is plucked and/or pushed from the womb, they arrive into an aircon-induced freezing room, screaming their lungs out. And if they don’t cry, some sadistic gynecologist who’s not getting any, would smack their little butts.  I reckon they don’t want to face the bright lights and would simply rather just crawl back into that warm space in Mom’s belly where they were doing the backstroke moments before.  Or maybe they cry because they’ve seen their Dad for the first time.  Or maybe that’s how they transition from amphibian to human.  I don’t know. What I do know is that they don’t cry because of what they look like.

Babies don’t care what they look like.  Even if they knew they were covered in some red/white mucus like goo.  Little humans just want to eat, sleep, poop and pee.  And be left alone for the rest of the time.  They don’t care if they look funny.  Or whether they have hair.  Or whether they’re a little fat.  Or even how ridiculous they look when they smile without one single tooth in their mouths.  They will happily play in the mud with any other kid who happens to stroll by.

A few things every Dad has said at least once

For those who haven’t noticed or any new visitors to this space on the web, I am the father of two teenagers.  My own perfect little pigeon pair whom I love most of the time.  Not when they argue. And they do. It’s never life-threatening, even if their quarrels escalate into full on blow-outs.  I’ve never seen blood or open wounds, unless of course you count that time when Dude broke his sister’s arm.  (In his defense, they were only playing.) Now we are force to eat with spoons as I’ve hidden all the knifes from them.  And we don’t own any guns.

Their arguments are always about life-changing stuff.  Like who has the most likes on Instagram or why A is following B and not vise-versa or who has used the acronym LOL the most during a specific day.

Laugh with me – Episode 2

This is another one where you first have to grab your mouth and think “Stupid Mom!” Maybe even say it out loud.  A close call is kind of an understatement.  You might laugh later.  Question remains as always: Who taped this?

The Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth

A few weeks ago (I can’t believe it’s been that long!) I posted a challenge as part of me excepting A Very Inspiring Blog Award or what I like to call a VIBA.  (It just sounds more prestigious, don’t you think?)  Those who bothered reading the post had to guess which two facts from a list of nine about yours truly, turned out to be unfathomable lies.

Here’s the list again:

1. I puked the first time I attempted to change Dude’s nappy.
2. I was slapped by a girl in high school, after I told her she had the personality of a pig.
3. The guy who introduced me and the Wife has since dated a gay-porn star.
4. I can bench press 200 pounds.
5. I told Princess that we’re going to stop buying contact lenses, facial cream and instruct the orthodontist never to remove her dentures, so she would be unappealing for boys when she goes to high school.
6. I might leave my Wife for Britney Spears.
7. I have been in three motor vehicle accidents and all of them happened on the way to gym, i.e. before 05h00 in the morning.
8. I used to call my Wife “Babe” when we dated and we got engaged during the movie “Babe”.
9. My first serious girlfriend cheated on two different occasions and I took her back both times.

When Doves make love

It’s awkward and it’s noisy.

He builds a flimsy nest from sticks, disillusioned in thinking his bachelor pad is a penthouse just because it’s high up in a tree.  Then he goes to the bar, where he struts around with puffed neck feathers, overselling his shithouse, trying to impress the ladies.  Most pigeon girls have very low expectations and settle for brawn and bravado.  Going home together is a concluded marriage proposal.   The couple is surprisingly happy, but in their defence, the choices are limited and standards low.  It’s a redneck society of happy hillbillies.

Bird porn, downloaded from http://www.birdinginformation.com

There comes a time when his urge to pro-create sort of aligns with her wanting some of them babies.  As all men know, that alignment doesn’t necessarily have to be a total eclipse, for the urge, unlike the moon, is always full.